


On the Road

by InchByInch



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:37:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InchByInch/pseuds/InchByInch
Summary: "I love you, Carrie.""What the fuck, Quinn?!"





	1. Before Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeffy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeffy/gifts).



> This work is in response to Zeffy's comment about CQ sex.

Her breathing was even and slow. He stroked her red curls and marveled at how easily she had fallen asleep in the middle of the one bed in this unfamiliar hotel room. Quinn leaned back against the headboard and sighed as he listed to Carrie turn on the shower in the adjoining bathroom. 

Motherfucker. How did this happen?

He’d been mission-focused to the point of losing his humanity for the past two weeks or so – since Astrid died, but he’d been even worse after realizing that Franny had been taken away from Carrie. He’d somehow returned to the familiar soldier mindset he had come to associate with killing. First thing after dispatching that deep fucking spook he had found Max, and before he knew it one thing had led to another. When he finally caught up with Carrie and Saul, the shit was flying. After more shooting and explosions, the conspiracy was uncovered, the plot against the president-elect was foiled, and all without exchanging 50 words with Carrie. Still, he had felt connected to her, working determinedly towards a common goal. Both of them had killed and broken several laws as part of the effort, and neither had the excuse or protection of official position. When Saul had nodded into his beard and asked them “Three new identities?” both he and Carrie had answered “yes” at the same time. They didn’t meet each other’s eyes or discuss anything. But that moment had been the first thawing of his icy-intense focus, that small warm feeling as he realized she was somehow thinking of them as a team. 

Later, when they went together to get Franny, he’d been sure the child would be afraid of him. Carrie must have been worried, too, he thought. She gave him Hop to hold, maybe so that he could give Franny the rabbit as a reminder of their time together before ... everything that happened next. He’d felt as though he might be faint when the little girl pulled away from her fierce embrace of Carrie to wrap her arms around him. All of a sudden his laser exterior had cracked in a million pieces, and he couldn’t activate it again. He was back to being just a person. A fucked up person, but still.

Then the ID documents arrived with the same family name, and again there was no discussion, just a quick determination to head to rural PE Island and more logistical decisions about gathering funds, obtaining prescriptions, and avoiding possible detection.

So, here he was in a hotel with his new “wife” and “daughter,” after 12 hours straight of driving, cut off from all ties to the past, on the road to a new life. His identity was that of a man married to a woman he wasn’t fucking or even kissing. Was Carrie motivated to stick with him by guilt? What could she want from him? Was it a fake marriage? Were they going to live as though they were in a long-game undercover op? Maybe they would get divorced soon. Fuck, he had no idea what she wanted, and only an instinctual understanding of what he himself wanted – to take care of them? To be with her, with them? How could he even trust himself with that responsibility? This whole situation was fucked up. Quinn sighed with frustration. He needed sleep.

He got up and knocked on the bathroom door and then opened it and went in without waiting for a response. 

Carrie peaked out from behind the shower curtain looking startled. Fuck.

“Franny’s asleep,” he said, without moving. He felt like an unwelcome intruder. 

Carrie considered the situation for a moment and then opened the curtain up to expose herself to him. “You want to join me?” 

He didn’t move.

She slowly and deliberately trailed her hand down her body, from her shoulder, across her breast, down her belly to rest on her thigh. 

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to say ‘no’ to that. He stepped forward and started removing his clothes. 

“God, that’s so hot.” Her voice was husky. 

His eyebrows shot up in a question.

“The way you take your shirt off with one hand. Honestly, the way you can do almost anything with that one hand is so … sexy.”

“What?” He was naked now, but frozen, staring at her in confusion. She looked absolutely serious and he thought he could tell when she was lying. She wasn’t. But, what the fuck? There was nothing sexy or hot about being a one-armed mutant. 

“I know, it’s weird. This whole situation is weird. And I’m sure most women are pretty impressed with other things the first time they see you naked, but I know your body so well. When you were in the coma, and first waking up, I bathed you and massaged you every day. You don’t remember, but I think about it all the time.”

“You do?” Shit, Carrie, you’ve sure never given me any indication of any of this. What the fuck? 

Quinn still didn't move. Carrie turned off the shower and stepped out to join him. The room was surprisingly bright and clean, though small. They stood, facing each other for a brief moment, and then he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her back, pulling her towards him until he was holding her close. 

“Everything has been so complicated between us,” she said.

The full body contact between the two of them, both naked, her wet, was dizzying. He couldn’t understand why she was still talking, but he wanted to follow her lead. “I think maybe we’ve just done everything out of order.” 

She leaned her head into his chest, her hands sneaking around either side of his waist to hold his ass. “You mean, we should have gone on a date before we shot each other? Gone dancing before the spoon feeding in the hospital?”

“Like that.” He couldn’t wait anymore; he leaned down and kissed her.

The kiss began gently, almost hesitantly, but immediately the inconsistency between the timid kiss and Quinn’s mighty hard-on drove them to be more aggressive and demanding with each other. Their hands quickly moved all over with firm pressure and the occasional nail scratch. Then he …

\----------------

Twenty minutes or so later, Quinn was showering alone. OK, that was a fucking disaster. No way would Carrie want to give him a chance after that performance. The sex had been awkward, probably painful for Carrie, and at one point he’d been sure she wasn’t going to come, which had panicked him into technical mode. God, how had the one thing he’d been dreaming about, literally for years, turned into such a fucking nightmare? Quinn turned off the water, rubbed his face with a towel and then rummaged through Carrie’s bag on the counter to find his evening meds. He’d been hoping an orgasm might help him to sleep and that sex would relieve some of the tension between the two of them. Now he knew he’d be awake all night, thinking about how quickly she would head for the hills. He wrapped the towel around his waist and entered the dim bedroom. 

To be continued…


	2. In Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, sex was terrible. Maybe a heartfelt exchange of feelings will bring our two wounded warriors together. Or, maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More silliness to keep my mind busy as I wait for 6.10.

Quinn was surprised to see that Carrie had moved Franny to the easy chair, where the small girl looked cozy, curled up and covered with a blanket. Carrie was under the covers on one side of the double bed wearing an oversized t-shirt, her hair still slightly damp. The lamp next to her cast a dim glow throughout the room, and he could see her expression clearly. Yep, she was definitely up to something. Fuck. He pulled on some sweat pants and then rummaged aimlessly through his bag which was on a low counter opposite the bed. Sex may have been a disaster, but he wasn’t going to give up. OK, so, be the first one to make a joke.

“Plotting your second exit strategy?”  Hilarious joke.  He was just desperate.  She must know it.

She laughed anyway.  Think you can play me, Carrie? 

“Well, a slippery bathroom counter is not the most romantic setting.” She sat up and looked directly at him. “I’m going to have a really strange-looking bruise on my butt.”

He walked over beside her and turned off the bedside light, settling the room into darkness. “I can do better, Carrie.  I’m getting … different.” Fuck. I’m getting better.  Fucking aphasia. He sat down next to her on the bed and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. 

She leaned forward and put her hand on his knee.  “Hey, there were two of us in there. Sex isn’t a performance. You are getting better, but even if you don’t, we’re still OK.”

“No. I know you n-n-need me to take care of you and Fran-F-Franny. And I will, I promise. I will f-find a way.” Could he sound more desperate and pathetic? Shit, he felt his frustration with his limitations skyrocket.

“Hey, Quinn.”  Her voice was tender, and she reached out to touch the side of his face. “We can take care of each other. I love you.”

“Bullshit, Carrie.” He stood up and walked back to his bag.

“Bullshit? What the fuck, Quinn? What do you think we are doing here?” She was hissing to keep from waking Franny.

He turned to her and hissed right back.  “Using each other to get out.  I’m fucked up and you feel guilty.” God, what the hell was he saying? This was just like with Astrid.  Why was he articulating what was better left unsaid?

“Fuck you.  No really, fuck you.”

Shit. Now she was mad. Fine. Maybe they could resolve things by facing some hard truths. He sat back down and loomed over her with a fierce glare. “I know you woke me up and caused the stroke.  You feel guilty. That’s why… all this.”

“ _That’s_ bullshit.” Christ, she wasn’t intimidated by him at all. “You ended up in that chamber because you were trying to stop a terrorist attack.  The attack was still going forward and hundreds of people were about to die of sarin poisoning. We thought you had intel that could stop it. God! What would you have wanted me to do?”

Well. The two of them locked eyes. He could hear Franny breathing. Fucking Dar. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You are stuck here with me. You’ve _been_ stuck with me.” He looked down in dejection.

“No. I’ve been _trying_ to stick _with_ you, despite the fact you keep pushing me away.” She touched his chest for emphasis and rested her hand there just a bit longer than she might have. “I know I fucked up at caring for you, and at caring for Franny, but, damn it, Quinn. I tried; I really tried. I’m not stuck; _you_ have been stuck, but you’re well enough now.  If you’re going to leave, then you need to just do it.”

He grabbed her hand and held it close to his chest as he took a deep breath to steady his voice. “Carrie, I’m not going to fucking walk out. I love you.” Jesus Christ. Since waking up from the coma he had been a stranger to himself, but this was too much. He had just given everything away.

“What the fuck, Quinn?” She pulled her hand away. “You really are an asshole. First, "we’re using each other," and then you say that?  Fuck you.  Anyway, that’s not the point.”

“Jesus Christ. That’s not the point?” What the fuck was happening?

“I mean...” 

“Carrie.” He was not going to give up. They were not going to fight. This conversation was going to happen. He put his good hand on her shoulder to emphasize his words. “Carrie, you didn’t fuck up. You’ve taken good care of Franny. And you did save me. I'm better because of you.”

“I drive you crazy.” She turned her face to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Yeah. You pretend too much.” He kept his hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off.

“Well, fuck you. I’m _trying_ to be a good person.” Her hands, flying around for emphasis, came to rest on her lap, and partially on his thigh.  His body was still sensitive from sex and her hand almost burned.  He got up and began moving around to the other side of the bed.

“Carrie, I see how hard you try.  But you can do all that … without being … someone else.” 

“No, I can’t.  My real self is too crazy, too selfish, too intense.”

“Yeah, that’s the person I’ve been missing.”  For once the words came out as smooth as they ever did.  He slid under the covers next to her but stayed sitting, looking right at her.

“Fuck.” Carrie’s face began to break apart. “I… Fuck.”

He put his right hand on her shoulder and stroked her neck with his thumb. “I think Franny has, too.  You could be there for her more if you’d be more relaxed around her.”

“Fuck. Look, that’s not the point.  We have to talk, Quinn, and not about Franny.  Sex didn’t solve anything.” She covered his hand with her own, and they stayed like that, lightly connected.

“No shit. That was fucking awful sex.” What the hell was her point?

“Well, what do you expect?  I’m a mother, after all.”

“Jesus, Carrie, being a mother doesn’t have to mean you give up being sexual and being yourself.”  Fuck, what had things been like between her and Jonas?

“You should know.  You had to make the choice.  You couldn’t be a father and be yourself.  Sometimes kids' need to come first.”

Ouch!  Did Jonas understand that, the asshole? “Fuck _you,_ Carrie.” He grabbed her hand and brought it down on the bed between them, still holding it.  Goddammit, this was going to be a conversation, not a fight.  He had to keep focused. “The thing is, my kid’s mom couldn’t handle … m-me, and no one can blame her." He had started off insistent, but he was whispering now, begging her. "We’re different, you and me.  We get each other.”

“That’s true.”  She whispered, too.  “We do get each other.  I _get_ you and I _love_ you, Quinn. That’s the point.” 

“God, Carrie," he pulled his hand away and turned his whole body away from her, facing directly forward. "You fucking bitch." She’d tricked him and blindsided him, again. He was too tired to fight back, and she knew it. She was playing him, but he didn’t understand her purpose.

But Carrie didn’t react, she just sat there, looking at him, waiting.  “Quinn, it’s true.  Think about it.”

He thought about Astrid.  People don’t do big things motivated by small feelings. “Maybe you shouldn’t,” he whispered, still not looking at her.

“I know you. It’s OK.” She curled up against him and nestled her head against his shoulder. She smelled clean. He put his arms around her and eased them both into a lying down position, holding her tight. 

“There’s stuff you don’t know.” His voice was quiet. 

“Yeah, obviously.  And it’s probably horrible, but I really don’t care.”

“I … I hit Astrid.” God, Carrie needed to leave him. He should try to convince her to go. Instead he clutched her tighter.

“Oh, Quinn. I'm sorry…” Carrie spread her palm on Quinn’s chest. “Were you angry? I mean, you _bit_ me, but you felt trapped and out-of-your-mind paranoid.”

How could she be so calm? “Like that.”

“Well, so, we deal with that. You do get angry, and lately, you get confused and paranoid. But you haven't lost your instincts – someone _was_ trying to kill you.   You know how to use violence more effectively than anyone, still, even now, with your disabilities.  But you also still know how to control it.  You know when to stop.  And you have lots of other skills, too...Living peacefully will help a lot, and if you will _try_ some sort of therapy…” 

“I will.” I will. I will. I will do whatever it takes, Carrie.  I will keep trying.

“We can do this, Quinn. Heal.”

“There’s also… other stuff.” God. She could never know.

“Yeah, so, maybe _lots_ of therapy. How do you think I got from being the Drone Queen to being a mother and a partner in a pro bono law firm? Not to mention caring for you?  Therapy isn’t easy, and as you point out I have a long way to go, still. We can have back-to-back appointments, lying to our therapist about the details while trying to come to terms with what is essentially true. This is just the beginning, Quinn.”

“Fuck, no wonder you ran away with me. Who could resist that?”

“It sounds pretty great to me. The two of us together.  Fighting about things like peanut butter, instead of how to kill or be killed.

He huffed a laugh.  “I really do love you.”

“I love you, too. So much.”

“OK,” he whispered, very quietly.

He pulled her closer, and she turned her face up towards him.  Their kiss was brief and tender, her hands caressing his neck and face before they settled into a comfortable position for sleep, still holding each other.

 “And tomorrow, we are getting a good baby monitor and a suite with two rooms.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Finlyfoe for encouragement and suggestions!


End file.
